


Artistic Inspiration

by squireofgeekdom



Series: The Jacket Squad [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5610250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squireofgeekdom/pseuds/squireofgeekdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn learns a little about art from an old hero of the Rebellion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artistic Inspiration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rimahadley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rimahadley/gifts).



> This comes out of a bunch of conversations with rimahadley, who has been most of my TFA headcanons and fic inspiration. :)

Every time Finn wakes up in the med bay- after the first time, where he’d been greeted with a loud whoop from Poe the moment he opened his eyes - he wonders if he’s been dreaming, if he’s really back on Starkiller base. But each time he turns his head and sees Poe’s jacket - or, more often than not, Poe himself, bringing him some new food to try - and he’s reminded that this is real, that it wasn’t a dream. 

He can’t stop himself from smiling.

After the doctors deem him well enough to no longer be under observation, they find him a room. The old nameplate is still on the door - he’d only been there a few hours when one of the resistance officers knocks on the door, running in to grab the last of the possessions of the pilot who the room had belonged to, trying unsuccessfully to hide the redness around their eyes. 

The awkward silence in the room is in contrast to the rest of the base, which is - loud. Not with the rumble of machines and trash compactors, but voices. Voices drown out footfalls, footfalls come irregularly, in ones and twos and threes, not the rolling thunder of regimented stormtrooper boots. 

Rey’s gone, they tell him, she left to find Luke Skywalker - so the one person who might find this as unfamiliar as he did is out of reach. He is told in no uncertain terms that he can’t go after her - they expect him to stay under observation for at least another week, bed rest for the next three days. 

Poe keeps visiting regularly - his repertoire of foods seems inexhaustible, Finn has yet to try the same food twice. He brings stories from the base too - BB-8’s latest adventures, the newest gossip from Black Squadron, and the art pieces circulating around the base. 

These last Poe shows him a little shyly - they’re painted First Order Stormtrooper helmets, brightly graffitied in a riot of colors. 

He devours them as eagerly as he does the raspberry scones Poe brought, pulling up holo after holo.

“They’re so -” Finn waves a hand energetically, trying to express the right feeling and failing. “They would never have let us do this to our helmets - never. I - kriff.” He shakes his head. “This is amazing.”

“I’m glad you like them,” Poe says, smiling. “They’re getting pretty popular around the base.”

“Who makes these? How -”

“One of the Rebellion veterans, Sabine Wren. She’s been around since before Yavin IV - tagging the Empire’s stuff all the way.”

“She’s amazing.”

“Yeah.” Poe says, as Finn continues to flick through the holos. 

He fully expects the knock on his door a few days later to be Poe - it’s not like he has that many other visitors. But when he opens the door it’s to a riot of color - not a stormtrooper helmet, but a helmet in quite a different style.

“Hey,” The helmet says.

“Hello.” He says.

“So you’re the ex-stormtrooper.” 

“Er - yes. I’m Finn. And you are?”

The helmeted figure steps past him into the room. A shock of bright purple hair pops out from the helmet as it’s pulled back to reveal a well-worn woman’s face. Soft lines crease the edges of dark, slanting eyes as she looks up at him. “Sabine Wren.”

“You’re - you’re Sabine Wren?”

“That’s me.” She says, pacing around the room. “So, do you still have it?”

“What -?”

“Your helmet. Your old one.”

“Er - no. Sorry. I took it off on Jakku.”

“Well, I can understand that. Shame though, they’re getting harder to find. And it’s not like I can go steal them like I used to.” Finn smiles, and she wags a finger at him. “Don’t you go getting ideas about me being past my prime. My wife keeps insisting that I should slow down. Hah!”

“How - how do you make them?”

“Well, you have to get the helmets first. Then it’s just a matter of the right colors -” She says taking a canister off her belt and twirling it around in her fingers. 

“But - how do you know which are the right ones?”

She looks at him, considering. “Well, it helps to know some about art - know what you like, you know? But in the end, you just have to go with your inspiration, you know?” When he looks at her blankly, she adds. “It helps to have a good canvas. Nothing to send a message like tagging a ‘trooper’s helmet.” She looks at him, a little apologetically.

He looks down. “So - are people -”

“Talking about you? Yeah. Don’t pay it any mind. I spent some time at the Imperial Academy myself, back in the old day. Work hard, people’ll warm up to you eventually. Hey, they go nuts for the stormtrooper helmets I painted - anything can change.” She reaches out, puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll do alright, kid. Here -” She pulls two more of the canisters off her belt, hands the three of them to him. “Take these. Who knows, you might find your old helmet again. Make it look a bit more like mine.” She adds, as she pulls her helmet back on.

“Th-thank you.” He says, wrapping his fingers carefully around the canisters.

“No problem. You take care of yourself, kid. Oh, and -” She raises a hand. “May the Force be with you.”


End file.
